


The Danse Macabre

by Rellie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Force Bond, Shared Dreaming, heavy Labyrinth influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6545509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rellie/pseuds/Rellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a dream or a memory though she's not sure which of them it belongs to</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Danse Macabre

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY PSYCHIC TRASH TWIN FOR LIFE SNOWFRIGHT! BASK IN THE KNOWLEDGE YOU WILL NEVER BE AS OLD AND DECREPIT AS MEEE! 
> 
> She likes Labyrinth, she likes Reylo.
> 
> Reylabyrinth!

When Rey dreamt, which she normally didn’t, she always dreamt of the lush forests of Takodana or the sun-blasted sands of Jakku. Simple dreams that were more fleeting impressions than anything complicated.

 

This didn’t feel like one of her dreams.

 

Around her the crowd hummed and buzzed, pushing in from all sides. Overwhelming her with heavy perfumes, their heavily painted and masked faces peering down at her curiously. It made her feel panicked, on edge, as if they would keep piling in and in until they simply crushed her.

 

The masks made them seem curiously inhuman and it drew a shudder up her spine.

 

From the few gaps in the throng of people she could see there were rich furnishings on the walls, tables so ladened with food they look like they might collapse. The ceiling above her was painted a deep, rich blue with tiny metal stars fastened into it to imitate the night sky. It was pretty but she found it difficult to appreciate it when she felt like she was about to be crushed to death at any moment. All these people, dressed so strangely and the music playing in the background high and reedy and haunting. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything quite like it. And her own clothes… they were nothing that she’d ever worn in her waking life. There was so much fabric, so much  _ excess _ . And there was the press of the delicate mask on her face, reminding her oddly of the goggles she used to use scavenging. It was all too much, too strange.

 

Then he was there, right in front of her. 

 

Kylo Ren.

 

The stifling crowd suddenly dropped away around them, leaving a small clear circle that only they could seem to enter.  It was a relief, the feeling of people pressing in on her had been making her want to crawl out of her own skin.

 

She wasn’t afraid somehow. It was as if there was no room to be afraid of him here, in this place that probably wasn’t really even a place. Instead she looked across at him, keeping her face as carefully blank as she could.

 

The very first time she’d seen him, on Takodena, he’d been wearing a mask. Something dark and ominous that had completely concealed his face and changed his voice. But the one he wore now was different-- a spindly, delicate thing that barely covered his eyes and looked like it might break if she touched it. He was still dressed in black of course, sweeping robes that called to mind the ones he wore in real life but a different material, richer, with embroidery twirling around the sleeves and neck.

 

He looked like he belonged here, basically. 

 

“What _ is _ this?”

 

Despite the noise around them, her voice still seemed oddly loud, ringing in the empty circle between them. 

 

Somehow she  _ knew _ it was real. That  _ he _ was real. That it was really him in front of her, not anything brewed up by her own mind. He was too... _ present _ , too completely there to be anything but real. 

 

“Is this is in our heads?” Her words sounded half worried, half breathless to her own ears. Too young, she thought, too much like an over-awed little girl. She would have to be careful not to sound like that again.

 

For a long moment he didn’t react at all. Just stood there, staring at her with intense eyes, mouth slightly parted as if he was trying to memorise everything about her. It made her want to push backwards, to dart away into the crowd. But she instead she stood her ground, mouth thinning in determination. 

 

She would never run from him again.

 

Finally he spoke,

 

“Yes. A dream, a memory I suppose.”

 

Maybe this was normal, maybe this was something that  _ happened _ with Force users. She didn’t know, didn’t want to let on to her ignorance if it was. When she woke up, she could ask Master Luke but for now she simply glared at the man opposite her suspiciously, fists clenched at her side.

 

It was likely that he was as dangerous in a dream as he was in reality. She’d have to remember that.

 

Maybe she should try and fight him, move forward and strike him across his smug, staring face. But it felt like it would be wrong somehow, in this place. That everyone would turn and look at her disapprovingly. 

 

“Mine, I believe.” He added, finally looking away from her, rubbing the drape of a heavy curtain between his fingers.

 

“Your dream?”

 

Probably the last place she would want to be. Well if it really was a dream then maybe she could wake up.

 

She squeezed her eyes shut,  _ hard _ . So hard she could see bright green flashes bursting behind her eyelids.

 

_ Wake up,  _ **_wake up_ ** _... _

 

When she opened them again, everything was still the same. The same masked crowd, the same strange over decorated room. Only now he was looking at her with something bordering on amusement. 

 

“Where are we?” She asked finally, taking a quick glance around, not wanting to look away from him for too long. Keeping him in the corner of her eye even as she pretended to be absorbed in the opulence around her.  The tables near them were filled with beautiful arrangements of flowers, sand yellow ones shaped like bells, sky blue ones that drooped elegantly and deep purple ones like little starbursts surrounded rich dark green leaves.

 

And tucked away, behind all of them, a small lonely metal cup with two wilting blossoms in it.

 

The small, dying flowers looked strange and out of place amongst the over the top displays. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch the dry blossoms. They were the ones from her AT-AT on Jakku, she was sure of it. Not just the same type but the  _ exact  _ same ones.

 

So, not entirely his dream then.

 

That was comforting somehow. She didn’t like the idea of being entirely in his dream.

 

“We’re in Corellia, Coronet City. A formal ball for some pompous dignitary no doubt. I attended so many in my youth it’s difficult to keep track.”

 

His voice sounded oddly choked and she felt his attention abruptly leave her. 

 

“There I am.”

 

Startled, she looked round. There was a small, skinny boy standing pressed into the side of the room a little way away from them, sulky and uncomfortable looking in his formal clothes. His mask was some kind of small furry creature that she didn’t recognise and he didn’t look particularly pleased with it, tugging at the string like he hoped it would break. The boy looked like him, that much was true but it was strange to think that he had ever been a child, had ever been innocent.

 

Next to him was a woman, her proprietary hand resting on his narrow shoulder, dark brown hair swept up into a complicated style, an ornate bird mask covering half her face. It took Rey a long moment to recognise her as General Leia, just younger, more vibrant looking. The weight of years and sorrows lifted from her face and replaced with a flush of youth.

 

Rey couldn’t stop herself from searching the crowd next to them for a trace of Han Solo. For the face of the man she had for a short, wonderful moment hoped might fill the gap her parents had left in her life. He would be younger but surely she could still recognise him, if only it weren’t for all these masks...

 

“Don’t bother. He never came to these types of things.” Ren’s voice was bitter, wound tight. As if he didn’t want to talk about this but she had somehow forced his hand. She shot him a sideways glance, feeling the slight burn of anger that he could read her so easily.

 

The crow closed suddenly in front of the mother and son in way that seemed almost deliberate, as if he were trying to shield that part of the memory. 

 

“How am I in your dream?” She couldn’t avoid asking any longer, the question bursting forth almost without permission. Had he called her here somehow? She didn’t like the idea that could could bring her into his mind so easily. Or get into hers.

 

“A bond perhaps.” He sounded distant, as if he didn’t really care what had caused this “Unknowingly forged when you ripped your way into my head most likely. Or maybe we are both simply the most force sensitive people left in the universe. Like is always drawn to like.”

 

She looked down, fighting the swell of nausea at the idea she was in any way like him. The floor...the floor was from rebel base, she saw. Something else of hers. The stark, solid blocks of grey looked so out of place amongst all the beautiful things but they made her feel better.

 

Rey suddenly realised what was wrong about his face, what was different. With a start, she looked up, confirmed it. It was the one she’d seen when she first been taken aboard the Finalizer but not the face she’d left him lying on the snow-covered ground of Starkiller base with.

 

“You’re missing something.”

 

He flinched, ever so slightly.

 

“You wish to admire your handiwork then.”

 

Slowly he raised a hand to his face and the scar blossomed under his fingertips, partially hidden by the mask. It was red, angry looking still, the skin blistered and torn. 

 

“Better?”

 

The sight of it made her feel a little sick, to be truthful.

 

“At least it’s honest.”

 

He reached out and seized hold of her arm, steered her suddenly away, into the press of the crowd. Like he knew that it would make her uncomfortable to be surrounded by these people. Like it was a petty revenge for making him reveal his true face.

 

He leant close to her ear, making her flinch.

 

“I wonder where this dress comes from? I don’t recall it from my memories and I imagine it’s unlikely to come from yours.”

 

Suddenly she was very aware of the way she was dressed, the amount of skin that was left on show. Her shoulders were bare, the neckline was almost modest but it was still more than she was used to.The dress was a deep, deep blue embroidered with tiny seed pearls and diamonds. It was beautiful but strange and constraining, difficult to move in. 

 

It made her feel trapped.

 

“Unless there is a social season on Jakku that I wasn’t aware of.” He continued.

 

“It’s not from me.” She answered shortly. How could it be? She didn’t think she could even imagine something this beautiful, this impractical. 

 

There was a distant, muffled announcement and the crowd cheered around them, the sound so loud it made her start. 

 

“It’s midnight. We should dance now.”

 

Suddenly his hand was on her waist, yanking her closer impatiently, almost roughly. 

 

“I don’t dance.”

 

“Maybe you should learn.”

 

“Not with  _ you _ .”

 

She tried to push away but he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and spun her before she could protest further, the dress flaring out around her ankles. It made her feel odd, lighter, as if she wasn’t quite connected with the floor.

 

He couldn’t seem to stop looking at her, eyes tracking over her hair, her cheeks, her lips. As if he were trying to find an indication that she were an imposter, a fake, as if something in her face would give her away. 

 

“Everyone dances. It’s tradition.” There was an almost angry tone in his voice, as if he was the one being forced into this against his will.

 

They moved together and somehow she seemed to find the steps naturally. It was strange, he was so close to her she could feel the heat from his skin, hear every heavy breath he took. But there was no fear. Everything had a detached, dream-like quality. Which was the only reason she allowed it, didn’t push herself back out of the circle of his arms. He ran his thumb along the inside of the wrist he still held, just once. It was a strange gesture that made her shudder, oddly aware of how thin the skin was, how delicate her wrist felt in his grasp.

 

It felt almost like...fighting somehow, circling around each other, not able to break eye contact. It felt like he might pull her under if she let him, if she dropped her guard for a single moment.

 

He let go of her wrist, instead choosing to trace his finger along the hem on her shoulder, oddly proprietary. Her skin seemed to prickle and burn under his touch. It made her want to shy away, but the other dancers were packed in too close now, crowding them together. 

 

“I remember now. This was my grandmother’s. One of the few things my mother had of her that was not lost when Alderaan was destroyed. She kept it in her room, she brought it out to show me once. I’d...forgotten it until now.”

 

They spun again and abruptly she was reminded of both of them holding onto their lightsabers, her pushing his down into the snow, making it steam and spit around them. He had hold of her in the same way, but this time he was trying to pull her closer rather than force her away.

 

“You should feel flattered, I dressed you as royalty.”

 

They’d somehow moved to the edge of the crowd, near to the tables. The smell of the food made her mouth water but somehow she didn’t want to eat any of it. Knew it would all be too rich and strange.

 

Finally she stepped away from him, gratefully putting some space between them. He let her, not making any effort to hold her. Instead he moved to pluck a lone glass from amongst the cluttered dishes, lifting it up to the light so that the liquid inside turned an strange shining gold.

 

An odd smile on his face, he brought it up to her mouth. Putting the faintest pressure against her lips.

 

Somehow it felt like a challenge.

 

She reached up, clamping her hand over his and tilting the glass suddenly so the liquid ran into her mouth. It was heady, sweet tasting and oddly warm on her tongue.  _ Not mine _ , she thought. Wondering when he drank it, where. Not feeling able to ask.

 

It made her head spin, her cheeks flush.

 

She shoved it back toward him half-full, her chin tilted up in defiance.  He didn’t look away from her as he raised the glass and took a swallow himself, lips pressed where hers had been only moments ago. That made her feel...odd. Like it was too intimate. 

 

And he hadn’t moved away, standing too close for comfort, staring down at her. She could smell the drink on his breath, sweet and cloying.

 

Her heart was beating strangely in her chest--  _ the drink _ , she thought.

 

“Stop it.”

 

Suddenly everything was too warm, too  _ much _ .

 

She pushed away from him, moved to open the double doors behind them and stepped out onto the darkened balcony outside. But instead of the cityscape she’d been expecting there was a vast familiar desert stretching out just beyond the windows.

 

“This isn’t mine.” He moved to join her, glass no longer in his hand. The light from the party behind them was spilling out onto the ground below, orange and warm , stretching their shadows out long against the cold sand. She could hear the distant familiar sound of the winds sighing across the dunes.

 

“No, it’s mine. From Jakku.”

 

The stars above them were distant, bright and cold. Different stars to the ones she saw from Ahch-Tu, from those she’d seen at the rebel base. These stars she’d known since she was a child.

 

“That you managed to put anything at all in here, it shows your power. Though why you would want to remember this place...”

 

He turned to her, face suddenly contorted into a frown, seemingly staring at a point just above her head.

 

There was a... _ change _ and abruptly something was on her head, something heavy. Now her hair was falling around her shoulders in soft waves, tumbling down her back in a way it never had. Never would.

 

“Shall I show you?” His voice was soft, understanding “You were born for a crown. To rule.”

 

There was a shimmer in front of her, a silvery reflection starting to form. There was the indistinct outline of someone who was not quite her staring back. Someone more polished, smoother, someone who had maybe never been abandoned. Who had been loved, cherished, who had never developed the rough edges and scars.

 

The wind gusted, bringing with it the familiar night scents of Jakku. Of sand and metal and the remnants of heat.

 

“No.”

 

With a force of will she changed her hair back to her own. Shorter, rougher, three buns again, the adornments gone.

 

A slight smile flickered on the edge of his lips.

 

“I could give you that, you know.”

 

She almost laughed, conscious of the dancing still going on at their backs. He thought she would  _ ever _ want that?

 

“What? All this? Terrible dancing and uncomfortable clothes? I don’t think so.”

 

It was lighter than she had ever spoken to him before, lighter than she would probably ever speak to him waking. The orange glow behind them seemed to be fading now, leaving them both in a colourless twilight. 

 

“If you like. Whatever you wanted. I could give you  _ everything _ .”

 

“No. No you really couldn’t.”

 

There were flashes in her head--  _ family, love, warmth _ \-- she knew he picked them up because the smile disappeared, his confident facade abruptly sliding away and she had the overwhelming feeling of him being violently dissatisfied with her response.

 

His hands tightened on the balcony railing, knuckles going white.

 

“Let me teach you. That old man knows  _ nothing _ .”

 

The wind blew in harder and she could see the familiar yellowish-grey of storm clouds starting to build on the horizon. Already there was a flicker of lightning in them and she could smell the strange, sharp metallic smell that had always preceded a heavy storm. Taste the electricity on her tongue.

 

Was she doing that or was he?

 

She wasn’t sure. 

 

The storm-light made him look sickly, painting his skin in flat shades of yellow. His eyes, when they met hers, were wet. Dark and angry and shining with unshed tears. 

 

“And you do? You. The boy who never completed his training, the boy who ran away to become a Sith lord and couldn’t even manage that. The boy who is so afraid to be alone he would sell his soul for his Master to pat him on the head and tell him he’s proud.” She didn’t know where the words were coming from, they weren’t hers she was sure but they spilled from her lips fully formed and his eyes went wide.

 

The wind suddenly howled around them, tearing at her heavy dress, pushing and flapping it about her violently. His hand darted out, clutching painfully at her wrist again and pulling her toward him even as she tried to push away and they were twirling, spinning… something between dancing and fighting, the wind streaming around them both.

 

_ This is a dream. And I can leave. He can’t keep me here. _

 

Suddenly, as if that thought had opened up a path, she could feel the pull to go back, could feel her body there starting to swim towards wakefulness. 

 

“ _ Don’t! _ ”

 

He screamed it over the howling winds, desperate and harsh. Fingers digging so hard into her wrist that it felt like he was going to leave marks imprinted there.

 

_ Don’t you dare leave me. _

 

The words were as clear as if he’d spoken them aloud, raw and dripping with loneliness. For a moment, the briefest second he was laid achingly bare before her.

 

He was afraid to wake up, so  _ afraid _ .

 

Her eyes shot open and she was entirely awake, gasping for breath. Alone on her pallet, in Luke’s shelter in the shadow of the Jedi Temple. The air felt too cool against her skin, the nighttime stillness too quiet. 

 

She could still feel the imprints of his fingers on her wrist.

  
  



End file.
